


Adamo

by wordstowords03



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Second War with Voldemort, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstowords03/pseuds/wordstowords03
Summary: Forgetting him? Never. Quelling the sting? Manageable. At least, until she ended up teaching his son.Called in to observe Hogwarts after whisperings of Voldemort, Calista Holloway is forced to walk the halls of memories past. She’ll encounter new battles, mentor new fledglings, and watch the wizarding world shrivel under a familiar threat. Most of all, she’ll struggle to keep old feelings and memories at bay. Particularly those for one Lucius Malfoy.**Told in a series of vintage Potter flashbacks & “modern Potter” storylines. “Modern Potter” universe pick-up begins post-Order of the Phoenix. All characters & events bent to my will. 😉
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

***Yule Ball, Hogwarts, 1971***

Callista stumbled into the corridor, a giggle gurgling in her throat. It erupted from her lips with a subtle pop and settled into the air like sparkles. She careened into the window seat facing the forest beyond. Blurry eyes fastened on the snow that flittered through the air; each glistening flake falling faster than the next.

Falling… Falling…

Her head caved into the incessant throbbing in her head by settling her forehead against the frosted window. The glass ebbed the pressure beneath her eyes; brought a soft smile to her lips.

“Well, you made quite the scene in there, didn’t you?”

She scrunched her eyes tighter, obstinately turned face-first into the glass. She was convinced she could chased away the pinched voice; vanish it.

“You are pathetic. Ignoring me – like a petulant child. Stop this charade and face me properly.”

“Face yourself,” she slurred, tongue heavy. Lines creased along her forehead.

“Intoxicated wit it at its finest,” the voice murmured. Heavy soles clunked against the hall floor, paused at her side. Gloved fingers sought the side of her neck, smooth leather gliding across her skin. The stranger lifted the hand, replaced it. Only this time with long, dexterous fingers: skin to skin, pulse to pulse. The hands worked along her shoulders; one roved to her forehead.

Teeth clicked.

“Honestly, Callista. You’re scorching. Come, let’s get you to bed.”

An arm moved beneath her back, stirred her dress.

Callista’s eyes sprang to life.

Golden pools flashed as she retrieved the wand from her side and held it against the previously angled jaw. The wood of her wand borrowed into his skin.

“Don’t you dare touch me again. You lost that right.”

His eyes widened slightly. Then, a smirk tugged at his lip.

“You can’t revoke the rights you once so freely gave, Callista. You want this – want us – as desperately as you breathe. Nothing will change that.”

“Is that what Narcissa thinks? Or – better yet – what your father thinks?”

The grey in his eyes flickered like a candle; the smirk dissolved. His eyes scanned her slowly, deliberately.

“Who told you?”

Callista’s nose scrunched and the wand quivered in her grasp. She allowed her hand to drop to her side, sway against her thigh.

“Your eyes did. Just now. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s there. Damn you.” She lifted a hand to her forehead, shook it like the last drop in a bottle of whiskey. “Damn you!”

His chest heaved with a calculated sigh.

“Now, Callista –”

She sputtered a laugh.

“No – you chose _her_. You chose darkness. You’re choosing to leave.”

“No, I chose duty!” He sneered, words ricocheting through the corridor. “I chose family, and obligation, and reputation. _I’m following the footsteps every Malfoy ought._ It’s duty, Callista – nothing more.”

“Right – right, you did – and now, you’ve lost me. Congratulations, Lucius, your life shall be everything you wished it to be.”

Blonde eyebrows arched up his forehead.

“You think I want this? You think I want _her?_ Callista, you are my moon, my guiding light through the dark. You complete my night sky. Life without you is a void – one I dare not live.”

“Not anymore,” she said, words colliding with the sullen dread in her throat.

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s all you’ve to say to me? ‘Not anymore,’” he mocked, nostrils sneering with pompous definition. ” I swallowed my pride for you –”

“How noble of you,” she said. “Let me tell you where you can shove your pride. Into your future wife, perhaps?”

His face turned to stone; as unmarred, unmoved as marble. He was her own Romanian statue; flawless in his conquests.

Particularly, the conquest of her heart.

The statue finally shattered, it was to move his lips – purposefully, deliberately:

“Allow me to make myself perfectly clear – I will never desire her. Not in that way. Not ever. Our obligation lie in family and legacy. Narcissa and I have lives that move parallel to one another.”

Her turned toward her, reached to envelope her hands in his. They smarted in his grasp – hot and shaky.

“There’s still a place for us together. In my bed, in our careers – we can complement each other. Conquer the ministry – you and I, Calli.”

“Are you proposing I…” Her eyes drifted to the window. Her throat tightened, her eyes watered. Soon, tears were falling about her cheeks like the snowflakes outside. She assessed him a moment through the watery veil. She traced the definitive curve to his lips, the striking blondeness to his hair, the inquisitive grey that stirred in his eyes. In a moments, he saw her future, her past, their memories – they swirled around his a dizzying array of colors and light. She imagined his hair on a child – one with cherub cheeks and grey eyes – as he toddled to his mother.

The mother that’d never be her.

She withdrew her hands from his, turned toward the window. She swiped her hands beneath her eyes and whirled back toward him, shoulders stiff for battle.

Unfathomable grey eyes leered back at her. A bleakness simmered in their depths like a secret.

“You wouldn’t dare walk away from me, Callista. Don’t be a fool.”

A smirk quirked her lips.

“You sealed our fate the moment you gazed into darkness. It was our final undoing. This – us – is over. Have a nice life, Malfoy.”

She turned on her heel and, with a confidence she didn’t feel, strode down the hall. All the while, feeling the feverish whisper of a grey gaze at her back.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a laborious train ride, one that stretch and stretched through acres of the rolling English countryside. She scrunched in her travel car – eyes steadfast on the empty passenger set before her – and compiled a quickly escalating list of tasks.

This wasn’t favorable – returning to Hogwarts. Though much of her memories there with rife with mischief and kinship, a very real element of dread remained. The dread of the inevitable: the dread of what Hogwarts had prepared her to become.

It was prophecy; joining the ministry. One she’d hoped to avoid. Her years at Hogwarts were spent dodging such ambitions, and convincing her uncle her needs would be best sorted elsewhere. An Auror, perhaps. A seer – after all, she’d received the rare, precious gift of prophecy from the Holloway gene pool. She thrived at divination, charms and the dark arts. Such gifts should be used to better the wizarding world.

For a time they were, she supposed. Her skills were useful in the First Wizarding War against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. She battled against him swiftly, and was a revered member of the Order. She performed her duties well.

Too well, it seemed.

Following the war’s conclusion, Uncle Varick insisted on a position within the Ministry. She started small – a mere transcriber, a page – then wormed her way to the protecting the face of the ministry. She was the ministry’s hype man and protector: a public relations purveyor. And she was splendid at it.

So splendid, in fact, that’d recruited her to Hogwarts – to undo the mess Umbridge created.

“You’ve secured yourself a future seat with the ministry,” Varick said, priding oozing from a wide, wide smile. “Your father couldn’t be prouder.”

Doubtful, she’d thought. His proudness would’ve been much improved if he were alive and well; if he hadn’t been absorbed into the ministry’s political bramble.

Yes, Hogwarts groomed her for this life. It was a crucial key in her prophecy; one that led to triumphs and connections. It was also one that led to a great regret, fear. A fear of what could’ve been, should’ve been – and for another war that very well may be.

Voldemort returned.

And with him: the leaden, sinking incur of dread.

Fate would not be so kind this time around, her gut niggled.

That tell-tale stirring of intuition fluttered through her mind like fairies’ wings: insistent, fevered, a frantic heartbeat.

Her eyes drew to the emerging black spires in the distance.

_Let the games begin._

_***_

“Callista Holloway, goodness me, is that truly you?”

Professor McGonagall flited before her. Once, her face was blemish-free; her hair a vibrant color that stretched for miles. Now, it was pent in a braid beneath a striking black witch hat and her face boasted the subtle cracks of time.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. That trademark, motherly, thin-lipped smile.

A trickle of warmth seized her limbs.

“Professor, it’s a pleasure.”

“Oh, none of this formality nonsense.” She dashed a flippant hand through the air and drifted forward. Her hands grappled Callista’s forearms while inquisitive eyes surveyed her face. “My, it has been many years. We needn’t still guard the kitchens, do we?”

In spite of herself, laughter bubbled from her throat.

“No, ma’am. Those days are behind me, I swear. No culinary explosions today.”

She nodded her head. Then paused.

“You’ve much changed, my dear. I do look forward to speaking with you again – at length. Come now, Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you.”

With McGonagall’s arm at her back, the pair bustled to through the halls to Dumbledore’s office. They made quick work of the declining stairs and paused at the end. The professor offered her one last smile, and a comforting squeeze of her shoulder. Then, she disappeared down the hall – likely to crowd the returning toward their dormitories.

“Callista Holloway,” Dumbledore’s sagely voice rumbled. “How long it’s been.”


	3. Chapter 3

“If I had it my way, it’d be significantly longer.” Callista said, then hurriedly added: “Though I do enjoy seeing you again, professor.”

Dumbledore smirked. The action stirred the white hair falling from his chin. He crossed his hands before his robe and fixed her with a contemplative stare over the rim of his glasses.

“I’ve long seen that ghosts aren’t the only things that roam these halls. It’s best we embrace out past with gentle consideration.”

_Easier said than done._

She inclined her head, drew in a sigh.

“So, where are you sticking me?”

An amicable grumble. A sardonic leer over the rim of his glasses.

“I’ve opened a special elective for you this year. Something I gather you’ll do rather well with.” He swirled to his desk, robes swirling about his feet. Fawkes tilted his head in his master’s direction, ruffled his sunset feathers. Keen eyes observed Callista. Narrowed.

She raised her hands in surrender, brandished a cheeky grin.

“Ah, here we are.” Dumbledore produced a leather-bound book from his desk and gently plopped it in Callista’s hands. She examined the cover with a raised laugh, bleated out a laugh.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Wizarding World Etiquette & Occupations are important, are they not? You’ve mingled in the ministry. With your tutelage, our students will be extraordinary. Talk about prophecy, professions, norms, public speaking – be creative. Add the Holloway touch.”

“Eugenic purification is hardly worth incorporating.” She touched a hand to her lips and admonished herself with wide, wide eyes. “My apologies, professor.”

Dumbledore chuckled. It was a comforting sound, ancient: like a childhood door easing closed before bed.

“Perhaps, I should’ve been more clear,” he placed a hand on her forearm. “Add the _Callista Holloway_ touch. Be yourself and they’ll adore you.”

“Of course, professor.” She reached into her bag and withdrew a bundle of papers. “Before I forget – these are from the ministry. These address my protocol and duties during my stay. As a head’s up, I do have to comprise weekly reports, but I’ll seek your approval first.”

Dumbledore quirked a smile, nodded.

Callista waved and walked toward the office’s entrance, eyes tracing the books on the walls.

“Oh, and one more thing Ms. Holloway?”

She paused. Spun on her heel toward the ancient professor.

“There’s a student I’d like your help with. Severus has seen to mentor him, but I wonder if you may be more… sympathetic toward his disposition.”

“Let me guess – a Slytherin miscreant?”

“Of sorts,” he replied. “A sweet boy – deep, deep inside. He merely needs reached. You won’t find it too great a burden, will you?”

“Not at all. Good day, professor.”

“Good day, Ms. Holloway. We’ll see you in the Great Hall tomorrow evening.”

***

Walking to her chambers was a nostalgic experience. In each direction danced an old memory, old haunts. She hurried beyond them, committed to settling in unscathed.

It was an amicable mission. Efficient. Until… she passed the potions classroom. A distinctive voice sang through her mind, as sharp and grating as any knife.


	4. Chapter 4

***Hogwarts, 1971***

“Callista _Hollo_ way, might I see you a moment?”

Professor Blawkin’s voice bleated, gaudy voice drawing the “Hollo” with unfathomable exasperation.

Callista paused in her shuffle from the lecture hall, rolled her eyes to the sky. Mere feet away, James, Sirius and Remus lingered. James adjusted his glasses, grinned. Sirius made a lewd gesture and crossed his eyes.

She pointed at the trio with malice, squinted her eyes with avowed intent, and inclined her head toward Blawkin.

“Yes, professor?”

Blawkin nodded slightly, gave her head an inquisitive tilt.

“I was speaking with Professor Romlade about your previous experiences in divination,” she said. “According to her, your predictions were precise, your notes immaculate – where, I wonder, do such gifts hail?”

“Centuries of eugenic experimentation,” Callista said. “It’s the Holloway ingredient to good breeding.”

Blawkin’s forehead wrinkled. Her button eyes blinked with exaggerated slowness.

“They call that humor,” Callista said, a smirk fiddling at the edge of her lips.

Blawkins murmured something unintelligible under her breath, sighed.

“Yes, well, I wonder if you might be compelled to put that ‘good breeding’ to use. I have a struggling student. He’s successful in other subjects, but divination seems to… befuddle him. He’s had to retake it his final year, and I’d like you to tutor him.”

Callista backed away slowly, threaded a finger through a russet curl.

“I’m not really the friendly, “tutory” type, Professor.”

“Few in our house are,” she said matter-of-factly. “The fact remains: your brain could win Slytherin points. I want the House Cup this year, and I can’t have dead magical weight – not in any class.”

“That’s not –”

“I ran the idea by your uncle,” she interjected, eyes narrowed to a point. “He thought it’d work out favorably for you. A healthy responsibility, he said.”

Callista jaw worked a slow, deliberate circle. Gold eyes simmered in their sockets, building to a boil. Getting Uncle Varick involved was a cheap trick; a ploy executed better than any jinx found in the flick of a wand. She was effectively stuck now: tethered on the string of her family name, dancing above the wizarding masses.

_Wrong play, BLAH-kins._

“Whatever you say, professor.”

“Perfect,” she purred. “Plan on every Wednesday and Friday evening here until our student sorts himself out. Bring your notes!”

***

Callista bounded into the corridor, a rain cloud taut above her head. Her shoulders were stiff as boulders, her russet hair a flurry as she slinked toward the trio waiting outside.

“So, what did old BLAH-kins want?,” Sirius asked. His dark curls held their typically mussed looked; his eyes alight with candid curiosity.

“She was probably praising her stellar performance in potions today. Who could forget the height of that smoke cloud,” James said, words collapsing into a snigger.

“Will you lot lay off her? Can’t you see she’s ruffled?,” Remus said, flicked his hand toward her.

James and Sirius paused, squinted in silent assessment.

Sirius tilted his head slightly, pursed his lips.

“Come to think of it, she does look a bit ruffled,” he said.

“A right foul hen, if you ask me,” James added. He released a puff of air, draped his hands over his hips with a sarcastic flourish. “Well, there’s only one solution for it.” His eyes slid to Sirius’s conspiratorially.

Sirius grinned.

The two began to circle her slowly, deliberately, like wolves circling their prey. Then, in a blur, they descended upon her, hands eagerly tickling down her sides.

Callista collapsed in a fit of giggles and shoved the two wizards away.

“I’m fine, guys. The ambush was hardly necessary.”

Remus laughed on the sidelines, shook his head.

“On the contrary. The ambush fixed you,” James said.

“A few plucked feathers did the trick. Callie the Caper returns!” A scoundrel’s smirk toyed at the edge of Sirius’s lips.

Callista shook her head, russet tendrils cascading down her cheeks. She breathed a sigh and scurried along the hallway. The three quickly followed, tripping over one another to catch up.

“Hardly. After last year, my escapades are thoroughly behind me.”

“I’m not convinced,” James said. He turned to consult Remus and Sirius, brown eyebrows crawling up his forehead.

Remus, insightful as ever, coerced Callista to the side before a yawning window. Tears freckled the glass, drifted along the rustic wooden pane.

“What happened?” He asked, voice hushed.

Callista’s hands scurried through the air. “My uncle’s happened. He’s interfering with Hogwarts again. As far as I can tell, he’s whispering in the ears of all our professors. It’s like he’s convinced my sixth year performance will snag me a spot at the ministry.”

“And you surmised this from one conversation with Professor Blawkins?”

Callista’s eyes dashed about the window pane, tracing the rain as it danced down the glass.

Remus smiled.

“Did she mention uncle speaking with each of your professors?,” James said.

“Not precisely,” she said. “Just that she spoke with him.”

James blinked. “And… he reached out to her first?”

Callista’s eyes rolled to the wooden ceiling, traced the intricate crossings of wood.

Sirius cleared his throat, raised an eyebrow. “Could it be possible that you’re reading into this a bit?”

Her eyes met his, needle-like in their precision: “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, but there’s no use in dwelling on predictions you don’t have groundings for.”

“I just know my uncle. If Professor Blawkins felt comfortable enough reaching out to him…. He must’ve planted the idea. Most people at Hogwarts are afraid of him. No one – not even Blawkins – would dare initiate random contact.”

“If you feel so strongly about it, why not ask you uncle?” Remus suggested. Sirius barked out a laugh, threw his head back with relish.

“Excuse him, Caper – he’s doesn’t run in elite pure-blood circles.” He turned to Remus, waggled a finger. “Our families aren’t exactly known for transparency, Moony.”

“Either way, you can’t let this effect your last year here,” James said. “Embrace the freedom while you can. Bask in the magical ambiance.” James’s gaze drifted across the corridor. A young witch beckoned, pointed features pent into a soft smile. “Speaking of basking… Catch you at dinner?”

With that, he was off – skipping after Lilly with a swoon-worthy smile radiating from his lips. He lined his arm through hers, pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. It was thoughtless, simple – like a habit. Callista couldn’t chase the smile that curled her own lips.

Sirius, too, was overtaken by a grin. He threw his arms over Remus and Callista’s shoulders, sighed airily.

“Ah, young love. Let’s get out of here. Who’s up for a game of gobstones?”


	5. Chapter 5

Callista tip-toed through the dark halls, feet light as wings are she traipsed from corridor to corridor; picture to picture. Her wand seared with vibrant white light, illuminating the hidden crevasses of the hall.

As she shirked along the entrance to Slytherin’s common room, the light extinguished. She grinned as the door sighed to a close, effectively locking her inside. Her eyes turned toward the flickering hearth to her left. The yellow-orange flames licked her shadow as she pranced toward her dorm, her confidence blooming with each step.

The dormitory door flashed like a beacon – so, so close. A few steps more – just a few steps more –

A dash of grey mingled in the dark, emerged before her. An intoxicating wisp of pine and soap gleaned the air before her. Followed by the very pronounced, very sharp words: “Holloway. Up to your old tricks, I see.”

“And you – still sticking your nose where it shouldn’t be.”

The body before her quivered with deep laughter. It was an imperious sound, pompous – as if the world should immediately beckon to the superiority of its sound. Sand-white hair swirled along his neck as he laughed. The fire cast a soft glow over his features, blunting the sharp, handsome angles of his face. His eyes – cruel, assessing – were numbed by the firelight, gray eyes reflecting hues of yellow and orange.

“Remember – I’m prefect this year. It’s my sworn duty to catalogue the comings and goings of students, particularly those _hours_ past curfew _.”_

“So where were we tonight, hm? Galivanting with your miscreant trio of Gryffindor scum? I do hope it was worth the blip to your record.”

_One more blip would hardly sink that ship, she mused. That one’s been submerged long before now._

She cracked a blithe laugh, shook her head.

“You’re such an ass.”

He drew a finger to the air, gave it a sardonic waggle.

“Now, now, Callista. What would Varick say? Tainting your family’s good name by speaking such filth.”

“It’s preferable to associating with it,” she said sharply. “Please move before you do any more damage to my reputation.”

She moved to shuffle past him, only to grappled by the arm. His touch seared her skin, drew her eyes to his with an exhale sharp as knives.

His mouth lowered to the shell of her ear, cool breath spilling against her cheek: “If only you should be so lucky,” he sneered.

“Be careful, Malfoy. My family tree is bigger than yours.”

She wretched her arm from his grip and gestured ahead expectantly. Slowly, he migrated aside. She felt the mist of his grey eyes as they tracked her, cool and insistent at the back of her skull.


	6. Chapter 6

Thoroughly settled into her new quarters, Callista roamed the empty halls of a Hogwarts. Long and winding, they held scents of days passed. Ghosts saluted her as she walked, raised a hat in acknowledgement. Even the professors settling in graced her with tight smiles. They were all busy – she knew – as the threat of students lingered on the horizon.

Hours from now, they’d come trickling in – one by one, newbies and novices. They’d traipse into new classes; brew new mischief. All the while, a viciousness brewed in the wizarding world. A darkness so vile – so cruel – that even the Order was unprepared.

A second war.

Voldemort. Again.

Gooseflesh trickled up and down her arms. A familiar sting smarted beneath her ribcage. If her fingers dared probe it, the flesh would swell – red and inflamed from the First Wizarding War. It was once dormant – a faded memory – two years ago.

It was her first warning: _He was back._

She continued her trek down the hall, turning toward the stairs that descended into the dungeons. She followed them as swiftly as a whispered prayer until she stood outside the dark, bold doors of Slytherin Commons.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. It was as if she was a student again: hands eagerly searching the handle after a night out, or Quidditch match. Warmth transcended from the room: a commonplace where like-minded humans could thrive.

The door creaked wide.

***

**[1971]**

Severus smirked. It was rare for him – such a display of emotion. Callista shuddered to a full stop, nearly sending the piles of scriptures bunched in her arms to the floor.

Gold eyes canvassed his pale face.

“You know something,” she decided.

“Always,” he replied, monotone voice poignant as ever.

“The chances you’ll tell me is zero, right?”

“And take away the small enjoyment I’d reap from your misery? Never.”

Callista blinked, then shrugged.

“So, misery – right, can you provide me a timeline? Is this going to be a drawn out affair or….?”

The smirk deepened.

Callista grumbled a curse and reshuffled the artefacts bundled in her arms.

“Good talk. See you later, Severus.”

The smirk remained as she watched her scurry: past slumming Slytherins, beyond the commons door, and toward the Divination classroom.


	7. Chapter 7

Callista scurried into the Divination classroom, head swarming with large, beaming thought bubbles. Each trickled with an obligation – the one to her uncle and family, the one to her House, and the one that longed to unravel the mystery behind Severus Snape’s sneer.

After all – emotion was a rare face for him to boast.

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner of the classroom that the bubbles began to burst.

In front of her sat someone blonde and slick; reputable and condescending; vengeful and misguided.

Callista’s plump lips melted into a frown.

_Oh, screw obligation._

Grey eyes flashed her way before quickly moving toward Professor Blawkins, who prattled with a crystal ball in the corner. Malfoy cleared his throat and her eyes lifted to Callista.

“Ms. Holloway, your uncle will surely be pleased at your promptness. Take a seat.” She gestured a red manicured hand toward a chair. The one right across Malfoy.

Malfoy’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

Callista tread forward. Her knees were heavy with dread, her feet like boulders.

 _Anything but this,_ she begged. _Anyone but him._

Once seated and settled, Blawkins gestured between her two students.

“As agreed, you two can expect to meet here every Wednesday and Friday until Mr. Malfoy can retain his Divination credits from Madam Romlade. Given the efficiency of your minds, I’m expecting extraordinary results within the next few months. Before the holidays, to be sure – yes, that’ll be grand.” She began to stroll toward the door, waved a hand in their direction. “Mr. Malfoy, ensure you conclude before curfew. We wouldn’t want another mark on Ms. Holloway’s record now, would we?”

Callista waited for her footsteps to recede before she leaped from her chair.

“You’re a foul snitch, Malfoy.”

“On the contrary, I’m doing my _job_ ,” he corrected, chin jutted forward. “Prefects are obligated to report misdeeds to our House Professor. Unfortunately for you, that's Blawkins.”

The skin above her lips twisted, lifted with disgust.

“Right, then your _job_ is to be a _snitch_ ,” she corrected. “How you make friends is beyond me.”

“Some say I possess a certain charm,” he replied, non-plussed. He leaned forward, whiffs of pine swiveling beneath Callista’s nostrils like a savory bouquet. “Have you not heard the murmurings about our school?”

She raised a brow, made an elaborate show of thinking.

“Oh, the ones about you being an insufferable ass? No, wait – that’s public knowledge.”

Lucius snorted, and made to reply before Callista dropped her bundles of books before him. The sheer force of the act rattled the table between them, sent a crystal ball nearby a quiver. The legs of her chair screeched against the floor as she withdrew from the table, her finger jutted toward the pile.

“My notes – read them, live them, love them. With their tutelage, you’ll be on your pompous way in no time.”

“Plus,” she added, “Romlade knows my touches. Sprinkles a few of my words into your work and you’ll be golden. Any questions?”

Keen eyes darted to the books, then back to her. If she didn’t know better, she swore she saw a sliver of doubt in their depths.

He pursed his lips, spoke slowly: “My understanding was that I’d be receiving peer tutoring, not… notes.”

Callista blinked, quirked her head.

“Is that not how you learn, Malfoy? By studying notes? You do it in potions all the time. And I’ve seldom seen you struggle there.”

Lithe, pale fingers drew into a fist. His knuckles crackled like stones, then he straightened them.

“Divination requires less notes and more intuition, does it not?”

Callista nodded slowly.

“One must be taught that intuition, which is where the problem lies with many students. Divination is not simply learned. It’s a series of viseral habits.”

Callista squinted an eye.

“Is this your way of saying you’re clueless here, Malfoy?”

Blonde brows creased, equine nostril flared. “How dare you –”

“Save it. You’re lost. And you need my help.” She laughed drily. “Of all the wizards in all the world – _you_ require _my help.”_

His eyes rolled to the ceiling.

“Are you going to help me, Holloway? Or must I report your hesitancy to Blawkins, who will surely tell your uncle, hm?”

“That depends,” she proposed, eyes sharp.

He lifted a brow. “On?”

“Whether or not Abraxas knows you failed a subject,” she said. “A subject as ‘worthless’ as divination, no less.”

He stiffened.

“Listen, Holloway – you keep your mouth shut. If you uttered even a word to your band of Gryffndoor scum—”

“Oh, now you’re threatening me? I can’t.” She barked a laugh. She used her hands to propel her from the table, her sights set toward the door. “Sort out the notes yourself, ass.”

Fingers tangled at her elbow. The soft cushion of flesh gripped hers – not as a warning, but as a desperate missive. She made the move, but the hand held her in place. She whipped toward Lucius, assessed the submissive hues of grey that met her there. A sliver of warmth wormed from her elbow to her chest.

“Callista, please,” he said, voice husky. “I can’t do this without you.”

She exhaled. A shaky endeavor – a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She lifted her hand to the vise at her elbow, rapped her fingers against it lightly. She felt an errant streak of heat through her cheeks.

“I’ll help you,” she said softly, “But the threats and insults stop. When we’re here, we’re equals. Always. Is that agreeable to you?”

His eyes trickled to her hand on his, then to her eyes. He conceded a slight nod.

“Only if you keep this in confidence. No one beyond us.”

“Or Severus,” she added.

He barked out a pompous laugh.

“Or Severus,” he agreed. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Not outrightly, but he definitely let on something. I ran into him before coming up here.”

His eyes travelled to the ceiling and the grip on her elbow conceded.

She cleared her throat and settled into the chair before him.

“Right, so, let’s get started.”


	8. Chapter 8

Callista shuffled from the great hall with a pensive smile. It was easy to forget the true marvel that came with entering the Great Hall for the first time. The sparkle in the children’s faces, the light. The shining beacon of incredulity within them. Hogwarts was a stunning place; one that hosted hidden treasures and new discoveries, particularly for Wizards previously unexposed. It wasn’t until one was truly devoured in their depths that the magic lost its marvel, and legacy took its toll.

It was a truth she saw in the older students.

Particularly, in one Harry Potter.

His face swirled through her mind. Innocent. Young. Yet, embedded in a world of legacy; one he had little say in shaping.

Slivers of grey danced at the corner of her vision.

She paused in rounding a corridor. Her fingers desperately sought the stone, bowed into its serene coolness. The grey continued to swirl, drowning the light through the hallway pillars.

She whispered a curse, then scurried through an incantation:

“ _Light doused, fate roused, for the ties the future weathers, may this image be forever severed.”_

Of course, visions only laid dormant for so long.

Her head swooned into the stone, and when her eyes quivered open the grey had vanquished.

In its stead, however, was the looming silhouette of Severus Snape.

“My, my – still struggling with pesky visions, are we?”

Her eyes drew to the sky.

“Ob-vi-ously,” she mocked, her voice winding in pronounced mono-syllables.

Snape’s lips twitched.

“Professor Dumbledore requested I speak with you about our common interest.”

“Ah – that’s right,” she said, detaching herself from the wall. “This student you’re mentoring – what’s his maladjustment?”

Snape nodded slightly – a subtle gesture for her to follow. She silently fell into place beside him, ebony robes swirling about his feet like curtains.

“I’m not at liberty to reveal much. I’m bound to…” He paused, his throat wrought. She watched him struggle – noted the brief flutter of red agony in his eyes – until he resumed his steps. “What matters is that he faces a great darkness, one you’ve witnessed before.”

Darks eyes flashed to hers.

The wound at her side throbbed once, twice, then settled into contented silence.

“I’m assisting him, but it may be more beneficial for you to… contribute.”

Now, it was her turn to pause.

“He’s received the calling, has he?”

Severus’s silence was her answer.

“So young,” she whispered, voice broken as eggshells. A familiar sting nagged at her heart. “I’ll do what I can. How am I meeting him? Under the guise of study hall?”

“Precisely,” he confirmed. “I warn you – he possesses a certain weakness for … practicality. Patience is needed.”

She snorted.

“Oh, like the kind you exercise with James’s boy?”

Severus’s brow creased.

“Tread carefully, Holloway. Few memories lie forgotten between us.”

She hummed in acknowledgement and turned toward her chambers. She paused once before departing, angled her head toward Severus.

“I’ve always admired your talents, Severus. James was foolish enough to forget that, but that’s never a mistake that I – nor Lilly – was willing to make.”

Her eyes glistened a warm gold, like flowers in summer. The colors within them swirled – in warning and warmth – before disappearing with the swirl of her robes.

***

Callista’s eyes drifted to the clock above the classroom.

_15 more minutes…_

A foreign tightness seized her chest. It was an unbidden pressure – urgent, seeking – but not inherently unpleasant. It was similar to one felt mounting a broom for the first time, or mounting muggle contraption. One with loops, and turns, and rapidly reversing rails. Her eyes lay fastened on the clock, breath hastening with each ticking hand.

Sirius Black lurked beside her, dark eyes trailing over her features. He jostled James with his elbow, drew his attention toward her.

Sirius balled a piece of parchment in his hand, drew his arm up with exaggerated slowness.

Callista’s wand zipped through the air, sent the parchment to crumbling embers on the desk’s ledge. She rolled her eyes in their direction, prompted a shooing motion with her fingers.

Severus snorted. He jotted a few notes in his textbook, sprinkled valerian root into the cauldron between them.

“Idiots,” he muttered.

“You can say that again,” Callista chirped. As she did, though, an insufferable grin flew across her lips. “But they are _my_ idiots.”

His eyes cast over her briefly before his attention dissolved in a puff a smoke from their shared pot. Callista batted away billowing clouds, and reached into the clustered mayhem of ingredients between them.

“Salamander tongue should stop –”

Severus’s eyes blew wide. His hand slapped away hers and his ebony locks shook under the force of his distaste.

“The potion is supposed to smoke, you twit. How else would you bolster its effectiveness?”

“Its nearly impossible to talk to you. Can’t you be amicable for one of our conversations?”

“No,” he replied.

“’No,’” she mocked, voice flat. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “If you quelled your little attitude, we could actually be friends.”

He paused his administration of a vial into his cauldron. His eyes rested like coals, ripe of the hot caress of fire. For a moment, she swore she could detect a tiny spark in them – the merest flame, a spark – but it quickly shriveled beneath the weight of his distaste.

He merely grunted and returned to the work before him. Moments later, the bell rung and not a single word more was spoken. He gathered his textbook and swirled from the classroom, a dark black cloud left in his wake.

Meanwhile, Sirius swaggered to her side. His eyes her wide with mirth.

“Why, James,” he said. “Was it just me, or did Callie seem mighty distracted in class today?”

“Indeed,” James replied. He lifted a finger to righten his spectacles. “What – or whom – I wonder, is occupying her thoughts?”

“Let me guess.” Sirius loomed before her, quirked an eyebrow. “It’s Severus, isn’t it?”

“He’s brewed his way into your heart,” James said. “Tell me – would your children perpetually scowl?”

Callista’s eyes rolled to the sky as she brushed past them, the clock in her head ticking forward.

“Hey! Hey! Where are you going?” Sirius whined, arms wide in protest. “It’s nearly supper time.”

“I’m tutoring for Blawkins, remember?” She clutched her book to her chest. If this kept up, she’d be miserably late. That’d mean more time wasted, more pressure, more work – and less time with…

She shook her head.

“Still?” James drawled, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Until Christmas break,” she said.

“That’s months away,” Sirius whined. “You better not be occupied for the Quidditch match Friday. We made plans weeks ago.”

“I’ll be there, I promise,” she said, “But I need to go now. I’ll catch you guys later.”


End file.
